


Heatwave

by sara_merry99



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_merry99/pseuds/sara_merry99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim helps Blair deal with a heatwave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heatwave

## Heatwave

#### by Sara

Author's website: <http://sara-merry99.livejournal.com>  
Not mine.  
A bit of fluff written just for the joy of writing. Unbetaed, but thoroughly self-edited.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Blair wondered again, for the hundredth time that evening, why Jim appeared to be better able to tolerate this heat wave than he was. Surely with heightened senses, Jim should be more sensitive to the fact that the temperature was over 100 degrees. 

But there they were in the loft, Jim sitting in the yellow chair, a book on his knee and a beer on the floor next to him, perfectly comfortable. Blair was sprawled out on the sofa, as naked as he could stand to be. Surely Jim should be the one wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a thin muscle shirt...Blair took a deep breath. Thoughts like that weren't doing anything to cool him down. He rested his beer bottle against his cock, hoping the cold would quiet the stirring. 

Jim looked up sharply from his book and Blair snatched the bottle away, hoping to avoid a smart-ass comment. Jim smiled in a way that made Blair feel like prey and the hair on the back of his neck prickle. "You okay over there, Chief?" 

Blair took a gulp of his cold beer, and shook his head. "No. I'm so hot I can feel brain cells dying. My mind will never be the same. It's not supposed to get like this up here." 

Jim stood, and walked over to where Blair sat. "It doesn't usually. I arranged this just for you, because you hate being cold." He grinned and Blair leaned back and flipped him the bird with a rather soggy smile. Jim bumped Blair's leg with his knee. "You know there are places in Cascade where the air conditioning is working. You could go to a movie. Maybe the library. Hell, there's some paperwork on my desk that needs doing." 

Blair opened his mouth, then closed it again, unwilling to share the reason he was here sweltering when he knew there were a dozen places he could be cool...Jim. Jim, inexplicably, didn't seem to feel the heat and had been looking forward to a quiet evening at home all day long. Jim wasn't going anywhere. So neither was Blair. 

Blair shook his head and waved Jim off, pressing his cold beer bottle to the side of his neck. Cooling the blood, Aunt Fay'd said that summer they spent in Georgia. He closed his eyes, trying to feel the cold from the beer bottle circulating through his blood, cooling him from the inside out. He heard Jim sit down on the other end of the sofa, near but not so near that he was adding heat. 

Blair lost himself in his meditation, in the imagined coolness flowing through his veins, in the cold beer warming slowly in his stomach, and in the soporific effect of the heat. Jim's voice wormed it's way into his consciousness gently, so gently Bair wasn't sure what his first words were. 

"...should work for you too, Chief. Just dial it down." Blair twitched a smile to hear his words reflected back at him and started to push himself into less of a sprawl. Jim's hand on his shoulder, cool and dry, stopped him. "Just relax. That's what you always tell me, isn't it? Give it a try." Blair relaxed into the sofa again. "I want you to imagine some dials in your head." 

Blair snorted but complied, though instead of a knob his imagination produced a series of sliders, like a sound-mixing board. Close enough. He nodded slightly. 

"Now, label one of them for each of your senses and a sixth one for pain," Jim said, voice soft and cool, like a breeze. 

Blair did so, watching his hands write "Sight", "Hearing", "Smell", "Taste", "Touch", and "Pain" on strips of white fabric tape and apply them to the console under the sliders. When they were all neatly labeled, he nodded. 

When Jim spoke again, his voice was closer, Blair could feel it moving the tendrils of hair that had escaped his ponytail, feel it cooling the sweat on his cheek. "Where's the dial you labeled touch at?" 

Blair looked at the image in his mind's eye. "About halfway up," he said, voice sticky and thick. 

"Okay. That's good, Blair. You're doing very well. You could try sliding that down to block out the heat." Blair's imagined hand reached toward the slider, ready to adjust it. Before he could touch, Jim went on, "Or, you could slide it up all the way, and I promise you you won't be thinking about the temperature for the rest of the night." His breath whispered across Blair's skin like the echo of a caress and his voice was licked with flame. Blair moaned. 

"Jim?" he asked. "What are you...?" 

"I'm tired of dancing around this. I'm tired of pretending you don't want me." Blair felt the heat of his blush like a sudden fire, but before he could move Jim went on. "I'm even more tired of pretending I don't want you." 

His words, blown across the hollow of Blair's throat where the collar bones met, made Blair groan and he spread his legs wide, making room for his cock, which was filling with each beat of his heart. "You want..." he started to ask, then stopped. He knew it too. Knew Jim wanted him. He just didn't think either of them would ever do anything about it so he'd never really let himself notice. 

"So what's it going to be?" Jim asked, "Down to two or up as high as you can take it?" 

Blair licked his lips, watched his imagined hand push the imagined slider, and said, "Up." 

The word was still in his mouth, on his lips, when Jim licked him, hot and wet, from his collarbone to the base of his ear. Blair's cock jumped, so hard he could feel each thread of his boxers stretched over it, a web of pressure that was almost enough to bring him off. He groaned. 

Jim whispered in his ear, "Right answer, Darwin." 

* * *

End 

Heatwave by Sara: sara_merry99@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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